


AKA: Knucklebuster

by Elfwich



Series: Aka: Knucklebuster [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bugs, Coming of Age, Conspiracy, Death, Dixon is a broken baby who needs some light in his life, Mention of Dead Relatives, Monsters, Other, Sci-fi/fantasy, Sequences of Detailed Violence, Slice of Life, Strong Language, Themes of Depression/Comfort, Witches, black magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:32:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23416012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfwich/pseuds/Elfwich
Summary: 22 year old college dropout Dixon Docks finds himself in the precarious position of lacking purpose and direction as his adult life is only just beginning to settle. Though the sleepy little northern town of Arbor Springs is beginning to appear a lot less like a dead-end and more like a disaster waiting to happen; monsters are starting to appear out of nowhere, and, at the center of everything, an encounter with a mysterious blue-haired girl leaves Dixon in the midst of a life-altering series of events.
Series: Aka: Knucklebuster [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684459
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	AKA: Knucklebuster

**Author's Note:**

> • Hello, everybody! This is my first attempt at a serious writing project, so I'm hoping for plenty of critiques and plenty of criticism for my first draft so that I can improve and refine my talents as a writer. Please and thank you! <3  
> • This idea has been floating around in my head since sophomore year of high school and this is the first time that a piece of it is being introduced to the public. My primary goal is to get a feel in general for this world I'm intending to create, so every bit of support and/or criticism helps a ton!  
> • If you like my content and want more, then just say the word! Now that introductions are out of the way, enjoy the first chapter of AKA Knucklebuster!
> 
> (P.S.) Yes, all of the characters having alliterative names was intentional, because that's one of my many weaknesses, (though Audrey doesn't have a last name, poor bby), so I figured I'd make it a mainstay quirk of the series. Plus they're easier to remember this way. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dixon discovers that there is a lot more going on in his small town than he is willing to believe.

Dixon Docks awoke that morning feeling as though this day had already turned sour, but that was hardly a change from the norm; aside from worrying about things like the long-term detrimental effects of climate change and the imminent heat-death of the universe, there were always smaller, more down-to-Earth problems facing the troubled minds of people like him, people who physically couldn't bring themselves to smile at the mirror and lie to themselves through their toothy smiles that existence was nice and palatable. It wasn't like he was going to bother apologizing for being who he was, either, because why should he feel obligated to experience feelings that suited the emotional convenience of others? Why, when being miserable was already difficult enough? Now, he would have preferred lying in bed, pondering the ceiling and extrapolating on just how cruel it was to limit himself by striving toward some delusional aspiration of self-actualization, running the same song and dance over and over in his mind, but he had work today and finding shapes in dried paint was only so lucrative a business strategy. No use delaying the inevitable when it makes you late for work, that was his philosophy... despite the fact that he had only recently bothered to put it into words. Maybe he could put it on a plaque above his bed, have another ultimately worthless investment hanging around his neck. Besides, the bed wasn't even his, anyway.  
  
None of the more useful aspects of the house belonged to him, either, not the nightstand from which he retrieved his prized star pendant, nor the dresser that held his starchy work-shirt, nor the mirror in the bathroom that he scowled at with his stormy gray eyes peering back at him while he fussed with his sleep-jostled black hair with a comb. Everything worth having in this house belonged to his close friend, Chelsea, who was letting him watch after her house while she was studying abroad. At first, the living situation made him feel scummy, like he was mooching majorly off of her kindness, but once he framed the prospect as nothing more than a favor to a dear friend the universe realigned itself as it was supposed to be. Nonetheless, Dixon couldn't help but feel the slightest bit irked by jealousy in regards to her situation; not the fact that she got to travel to distant countries and discover herself, (honestly, the prospect of that much open space terrified him more than anything), but more, he envied the fact that she had a mortgage, that she had insurance, that she had her life just about figured out. She always made it look so easy... so why wasn't he able to figure it out? Not that he held any inward contempt for her apparent good fortune, certainly nothing that petty. She had all the chances in the world to improve herself and she took them, and as for Dixon... well, he was proud of her, that was one thing of note.  
  
Once his part was even to an acceptable degree and his ruffles were prim and proper, Dixon went to grab his tooth brush, but decided against it at the last second; he had already wasted enough morning effort on his hair, he could afford to skip a day of dental hygiene. What he couldn't afford was getting fired from his job. So he ditched everything else and progressed to the living room, where he made sure everything was packed in his cheap, timeworn dufflebag, (one of the few things he actually owned), before hoisting it on his shoulder and making to leave for his job. As he walked out the door, his hand reached out and he brushed his fingers against the glass of a pristine picture frame, a movement that was, at this point, second-nature, but nonetheless was a vital custom to his daily routine. Once outside, he kicked out the stand of his trusty bike, (yet another of the things he could call his), wheeled it out past the off-limits garage, and then took off down the street.  
  
As he peddled through the small-town streets of Arbor Springs, which were nonetheless busy with the foot-traffic of early commuters, Dixon begrudged himself noticing just how bright and sunny it was that morning, which he couldn't help but observe was a vast departure from the gloomy weather of the past week. He knew the weather was temperamental whenever autumn started rolling around, but at least with a cloudy day he didn't have the heat beating down on the back of his neck and the sunlight glaring in his eyes. For a day so bright and vibrant, it was shaping up to amount to nothing more than a feeling of unpleasant stickiness for Dixon. As if his commute wasn't already egregious enough with the massive uphill trudge leading to his place of gainful employment. It was the shortest and quickest path from Chelsea's house to the Gimme Burger, but that didn't make him yearn any less for the downhill breeze awaiting him after work. Those were the moments to live for, right there.  
  
When he had finally reached the peak of the hill and his glutes were screaming at him for the sweet relief of even footing, Dixon leaned against the handlebars for a second to recapture his bearings. But with the daunting presence of check-in looming ever closer in his mind, he puffed through the pain and powered forward so he could dock his bike and escape into the comforting embrace lying beyond those double doors. At least Gimme Burger was air-conditioned. With barely any time to rest on his laurels, Dixon continued forward and hopped the counter so he could punch his card into the slot just in time to be ten minutes early for work. This gave him the opportunity to prep everything for the work day while the rest of the slackers were just getting out of bed, no-doubt. He by no means withheld any regard for their time, since he mostly kept his nose to the grindstone and hadn't even tried learning any of their names, but it was mildly annoying whenever one of them was late for work and left it in his hands to cover their shift until they could be bothered to crawl out of bed on their bellies. And was Dixon being paid extra for their neglect? No, no he wasn't.  
  
As he went through the motions of getting things simmering, he found himself thankful for the peace and quiet. Why? Because the prospect of wearing a gaudy burger plush on his head was humiliating enough without all of the judgmental looks and suppressed snickering it earned him. That was why. Dixon couldn't even bring himself to call it a hat, per se, just a lumpy, misshapen representation of lost dignity that, in itself, still should have been filed as false advertisement for the slop Gimme Burger shoveled into the faces of its clientele. But thank god he wasn't required by his job to actually sample any of the food. He only had to inhale the noxious odor of burning grease and barely-edible chemicals on a daily basis, and also deal with what little comfort he found in crisp, cool air-conditioning being stolen away once the stoves and fryers started crackling away. Manageable enough.  
  
And sure enough, it wouldn't be too long before the first dude-bro slouched within his direct line of sight, which would only be a little insufferable if this guy wasn't, in fact, the first of a set. It was little wonder Dixon hadn't developed claustrophobia from being cramped in a stuffy backroom with four-to-five other sweaty, hairy bodies like a pack of rowdy sardines, minus the one that was still alive and suffered for it. But this was only a small upside to the heaping pile of shit that was listening to these assholes prattle on about their wild, eventful lives while he was stuck breaking his back carrying the entire operation. Another upside, he supposed, was that all the noise didn't make it too difficult to absorb himself into his work, and he soon found himself in the rhythmic groove of monotonous busywork. Punching in numbers, tearing receipts, exchanging goods for profit. The heartbreaking labor pretty soon composed itself into a near-symphony of humdrum activity, only, of course, without the part that made symphonies fun. With things working like this, he might have been able to salvage this entire workday, made light of his contractually-bound obligation to talk to people and remain cordial to the odd rugrat.  
  
But the peace wouldn't last the _entire_ workday, not if Kyle Keener had anything to say about it.  
  
"Yo, Dixstick! You're still working here? Call that a surprise, because I'm, well... surprised!" The son of a bitch was his best friend in the world, (not going by much, to be completely fair), but his buoyant demeanor and talkative disposition made it impossible not to greet his presence as a bad omen. Especially if you wanted to get any work done while maintaining a clear grasp on your mental security, "Would've thought you'd have moved on to bigger prospects, my buddy!"  
  
"Welcome to Gimme Burger, _sir_ , could I interest you in trying our new Gimme Molarmelter Supreme with extra cheese sauce and curly fries?" Dixon droned automatically, though he slurred the latter half of that question as he witnessed the rest of their supposed "crew" materialize over Kyle's shoulder.  
  
"That would be _stupendous,_ young fellow," Kyle teased in a voice of faux bravado reminiscent of a mid-century gentleman. Ever the personality with this guy. with his square-framed glasses and coiffed brown hair giving him the resemblance of a talk-show host from the 1990's, despite the fact that he was around Dixon's age, and by no means was he built for the prospect of television with those spindly limbs. Nevertheless, Dixon would almost have considered this ridiculous act the slightest bit endearing, if not for... "In fact - gimme Molarmelters all around, good bean, I'm liquid!" He said this with an open-armed gesture to their larger ensemble of two, as though this were a fact worth celebrating, but for Dixon this meant another quarter-dozen orders to ring up all at once that would, no-doubt, effectually throw him off his groove. Just like you, Keener, to be simultaneously the biggest help to the economy and the biggest hindrance to everything else.  
  
"That will be $17.37 up-front... _sir_ _,_ " Dixon seethed dryly through his teeth, but he knew in the back of his mind that he would never hold a vendetta against Kyle, and that just made this unfavorable situation all the more of a dire one in his mind. The only thing saving Kyle from shouldering the "dude-bro" label like the rest of the sloped foreheads was his redeeming quality of being at least smarter than a bag of flour, not to mention the outgoing personality he retained beyond it all, making him what his circle of friends affectionately dubbed a "prep nerd". Dixon knew he probably meant it whenever he said he expected bigger prospects from him, and that idea only made him feel more shitty for not being a more available friend for him. But he knew he couldn't please everybody, and that shouldn't be the goal he cursed himself with for the rest of his life.  
  
"I have a question for you, Dix-Dix-Remix," Kyle pressed, even as Dixon expelled a Keener-sized grunt of exasperation at his latest in a series of convoluted nicknames, and, (Dixon was mortified to see), he even saw fit to accompany it with the cheesiest racket-spinning gesture in the history of the 1970's, which distracted Dixon so horribly that he hardly noticed when he said... "First of all, is your grill supposed to have that much fire?"  
  
"What?" Dixon posited once finally arriving to the concept and turning his head to see the grill was, indeed, a towering inferno of charred meat with nobody around to maintain it, "Oh _fuck me!"_ He exclaimed, withholding simultaneous shock and indignation as he yanked the fire extinguisher out from underneath the prepping table and proceeded to battle the blaze by smothering it with numerous uproarious spritzes of fire-squelching agent.  
  
"Keep working that sexy uniform and you might not be able to stop me - woof," Kyle mused lightheartedly, his cucumber-green eyes gazing over his lenses as he watched his friend valiantly struggle with the temperamental lapping of the unruly grill, this battle of attrition culminating with Dixon emptying the fire extinguisher and then throwing his hat down to smother out what was left. The additional round of applause that followed as he redonned his half-smoked cap was almost more than Dixon could bear from Kyle, and he would have almost snapped at him if he wasn't so self-aware of which party toward whom his irritation was rightfully reserved, "Weren't there more red torsos working here with you the other day?"  
  
"Working? No," Dixon affirmed, just barely able to maintain the calm in his voice as he swiped the sweat from his brow and made to replenish the gristle encrusted grill with the fresh, half-frozen patties to which it was accustomed, "Probably getting their brains baked to high hell in the parking lot as we speak," A disgruntled sigh made way for a grumble as he verbally confided to anybody who could hear the lengths at which he was profoundly done with carrying these people, a hand being brought down to flick incessantly at a stubborn piece of burnt meat until it was sent sailing clear across the counter.  
  
"I guess somebody has to put all that legal marijuana to good use," Kyle remarked as he fingered at the meager chunk of crisped char, which more resembled a small black rock than anything edible, "I guess I could add this to my collection of urban fossils." This clear attempt to diffuse his frustrations by injecting humor only garnered the slightest reprieve for Dixon as he worked the spatula underneath the simmering fresh meat, hoping upon hope that they wouldn't be put into jeopardy of ending up like their predecessors anytime soon, "Why do you let those space-cases work you over so much, anyway? You're usually such a badass."  
  
"Because, Kyle, in the real world connections mean everything," Dixon conceded darkly, his attention lost somewhere in the middle-distance as his hands worked their grillmeister magic on pure intuition alone, "And, unfortunately, I'm not the great nephew of a fast-food mogul who got all of my equally worthless friends jobs at my place of work," As his griping slowly tired itself out, he returned to lucidity for just a moment so he could flip the patties and turn then over to their more frost-bitten side.  
  
"But you could be," Kyle insisted in his honest attempt to inject some much-needed optimism into his best friend's peril, but these words existed with an ulterior meaning on Dixon's ears, his extremities going stock still and his head slowly turning so he could squint beadily at him.  
  
"Please don't tell me you came here to ask for a job, because I swear I will smack you with this spatula for being that pathetic," Dixon warned, brandishing the grilling implement in his hand threateningly so he could get his point aptly across. When Kyle lifted his hands in surrender, Dixon seized this opportunity to capitalize on his point, "Tell me that isn't what's happening here."  
  
"That isn't what's happening here, dude, geez..." Kyle amended hurriedly, pearly whites on full display so to portray the existence of a charmer in his eyes in lieu of someone who so easily deceived, "Cut the gas there, fourth musketeer."  
  
At this instance of what was clearly intended to be clever wordplay on Kyle's part, Dixon's stress-induced anxiety got the better of him and he diagnosed the grill anyway in spite of himself. Once assuring his common sense that he wasn't about to blow the place sky high, the only scorching Dixon would have to worry about came in the form of a strummed melody accompanied by a string of improvised lyrics meant to mock him in his moment of vulnerability. All too frequently familiar with this brand of treatment by one of his other associates, Dixon turned his head on cue and, sure enough, he saw Brad Benson, the local anarchist, presiding over the scene like some massive, black hoodie-clad vulture, and naturally he brought his guitar with him. He had apparently arrived alongside Kyle, but Dixon wouldn't know considering Brad had the eerie tendency to melt into the background and only emerge from the shadows when there was havoc to be wreaked... or, put more appropriately for this particular instance, when he was bored and wanted to torment Dixon with his derogatory lyricism. It was all in good fun, of course, but in this specific situation the incessant strumming was less than helpful to propagating a relaxed work environment.  
  
"Oh hey, Brad, do you mind?" Dixon stated flatly, lifting his spatula clearly in Brad's face, despite the fact that he knew exceedingly well that Brad would pretend not to perceive it, and sure enough...  
  
"Not at all," He drawled in that dead inflection of his, shaking back his shaggy hair, the exact pitch and texture of raven feathers, so that he could more closely study the progression of his fingers through the chords of his guitar, "Brutus doesn't mind if you keep burning those pleistocene patties, and, as luck would have it..." Brad paused so he could let Brutus wail on through a single well-timed riff before finishing this thought, "...Neither do I."  
  
"Okay then..." Dixon trailed off, choosing not to say anything that would further encourage Brad's onslaught, so he could spare himself the potential of a stress aneurysm.  
  
"You're a dick," Brad replied without missing a beat, fixing Dixon with those two black holes some people apparently mistook for eyes, but hardly betrayed the nature of anything differing from the former, as they forcefully drew the faintest glimmers of his attention and happiness into their abyssal thrall.  
  
"Thank you for your honesty, Brad," Dixon retorted lightly while he assigned freshly grilled patties to their respective homes between two grease-slathered buns.  
  
Dixon liked to think that having Brad as an acquaintance contributed for the most part to his quick wit of the present, and he had learned long ago not to take everything that came out of his mouth personally. The thing about Brad was that, in addition to lamenting the foundations of society as a whole, his relentless distaste also extended to the people who enabled the powers to be. Despite this, he had found something of a family in his school-age friends, and, thus, from a young age, had promised them a place in the kingdom he would one day create. By this, Dixon had no way of knowing that Brad's alleged "kingdom" would amount to his eventual formation of a high-school indie band he dubbed _"The Knights of Neurodeath"_. Not only had this idea of his manifested seemingly out of nowhere at the time, but it disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared; as a high-school band, it didn't last more than two weeks. Brad still kept up guitar lessons, though, out of what Dixon chose to believe was some form of immortal ambition.  
  
"No," Brad said bluntly, as monosyllabic phrases were often his most favorite of all. Society cannot steal meaning out of what it simply cannot understand, was probably his reasoning for why that was.  
  
"Please tell me you didn't come with just him," Dixon pleaded to Kyle with his tone constricted with exaggerated desperation, a comment which garnered Brad's wandering attention just enough for him to impart upon his distinguished cashier the honor of a one-finger salute.  
  
Luckily, Dixon was forborne the need to reciprocate the obscene gesture whenever Brad stepped aside like a brooding black curtain to unveil the presence of Kelly Kirkman, the penultimate member of their gang, and by far the most minuscule example, much to her chagrin of people constantly reminding her of this fact. Her freckled, deadpan visage was illuminated ever-slightly by her phone screen, the message she was currently typing away at just barely able to be ascertained in the pink-tinted lenses of her oval-framed spectacles. But she wasn't so absorbed by her texting that she hadn't ignored the annoying prospect of being singled out, a deep frown line gouging itself between her eyebrows as she lifted a hand to tuck a lock of her curly purple hair behind her ear; a clear warning sign that she was about to get dangerous.  
  
"No, I'm not ordering a kiddie meal, assho -" However, the alarming firelight glinting behind her lenses was extinguished the instant she laid eyes on Dixon, her expression falling flat and a single brow furrowing as she observed him in the action of doling out some curly fries, "Oh, it's just you," Though the inflection in her voice hardly indicated that she was anymore happy to see him manning the counter, and she made a point to avoid looking at him further by magnetizing her gaze back to her on-screen activities.  
  
"You were expecting the Gimme Burger Boy, were you?" Dixon remarked humorlessly as he loaded up a tray and passed Kyle their food in exchange for the money he owed him, which was an admittedly satisfying feeling amidst the lopsidedness that was this exchange of grating comebacks. He and Kelly had never gotten along on the best of terms, though this was hardly because they disliked each other, and more for the fact that she was Lacey Lincoln's friend, and that hardly ever made her his by association. Thus, she and Dixon never really had much of a relationship to work off of in the first place.  
  
"Your wit never ceases to amaze me, Dixon, truly," Kelly retorted in a colorless voice, tucking her phone away into her back pocket, only to withdraw a simple blue notebook adorned with various stickers depicting aliens, and numerous cryptids and warning labels. Her dry demeanor might have been due largely to the liberal amounts of energy she disposed to her all-consuming obsession with the supernatural. In fact, her one dream in life was to start her own cryptid-hunting web-series delving into the mysteries surrounding Misery Town, the paranormal hot-spot just west across the lake from Arbor Springs. This, aside from her fascination with everything amphibious and scaly, was everything Dixon needed to know about her. Lacey was the Kelly expert, and that suited her just fine. On that note, he couldn't help but note her conspicuous absence from the group, which evidently meant she had decided to go to work today. Good for her.  
  
"I'm surprised to not see Lacey hanging around, you're normally attached at the hip," Dixon commented smartly, earning him a mocking little pity laugh from Kelly as she turned on her heel to venture out in search of a table far enough from him, yet close enough to the bathroom just-in-case. As efficient as ever. Brad followed after her, but not before composing one final ballad titled _"Dixon's Douchey Little Chin-beard"_ along the way. Kyle clearly intended to bring up the back of the procession, but hung back so he could continue his earlier conversation with Dixon.  
  
"Speaking of which, I wanted to ask if you'd mind heading up to the library with me after work," He mentioned in regards to his earlier mention of an important question, and when Dixon lifted both brows in a questioning prompt, he quickly got around to the finer points of this proposition, "You see, this might be completely stupid, but..." Kyle's typical confidence gave way to genuine trepidation as he rubbed an anxious hand along the nape of his neck and continued further with a light tread, "I was thinking of scouting my options for what to major in, for college, I mean..."  
  
"Oh," Dixon conveyed in a way that was clearly more hollow than he intended for it to sound, but this revelation was so out-of-the-blue that it frankly surprised him. Since his own devastating failures retaining to the campus experience, college was the last thing he ever wanted to talk about, yet here Kyle was, confiding in him about his own academic pursuits, in spite of any urging to the contrary. Of course, he had every right to consider the future, and it was Dixon's role as his friend to be nothing but supportive. Nonetheless, he felt as though he might have pulled back without realizing it, because Kyle's next words conveyed a certain amount of tact that wasn't there before.  
  
"Yeah, with the new semester having just recently started and all, it got me thinking about when I might want to leave Arbor Springs for awhile and explore... new horizons, you know," He stammered, holding things together with a broad smile that Dixon know was entirely for his sake, entirely to placate him. But Dixon was fine, even better than fine, in fact. Now that he pictured it in his head he didn't know why he'd never thought of it before; the role of big-man-on-campus suited Kyle tremendously well, he would do wonderful there with all of his talents... "Now, dude... please don't be upset."  
  
"Upset?" Dixon questioned, just then realizing that he was frowning whenever he moved his mouth to speak. He quickly rushed to manufacture an excuse to salvage Kyle's crumbling motivation and self-esteem, "Don't be ridiculous, why would I be upset about this? Just..." He breathed a sigh of exasperation, more than exasperation, disappointment at himself. He could never hide anything from Kyle, and he shouldn't ever feel the need to. Kyle would understand better than anybody, and not showing the proper amount of faith in that fact was about the most underhanded thing Dixon could do for this situation, "Look, college may have been a total bust for me, alright? We all know that, but for you..." As he noticed Kyle's gaze rapidly beginning to depart into obscurity, that underfed, more sentimental part of himself prompted Dixon to bring a hand forward and set his fingers to rest lightly atop Kyle's fidgeting hands, "This could be a big opportunity for you, so you can succeed and make it somewhere, so don't..." He shook his head to highlight his sense of severity on this, "Don't waste your chance on my account, don't do that to yourself. Go, go to college, apply for it, cram for it - whatever, but only if that's what _you_ want to do," Even he could comprehend the falsely saccharine aftertaste following these words of wisdom, but he choked it down for Kyle's benefit.  
  
"Dixon..." Kyle responded with a tone of awe, but this touched moment of his quickly evaporated back into his regularly scheduled joviality when both he and Dixon realized the instance of the latter's hand on the shoulder of the former, and they considered one another, one conveying his trademark wink-and-grin and the other existing with the sting of embarrassment fresh in his face, "I know I'm already gay, my dude, but that was _mondo_ gay. But I don't not appreciate the hell out of it, though," And Dixon was left to squirm under the mercy of the inevitable finger-pistol that followed. _Mondo?_ What was this, the 1960's?  
  
"Yeah..." Dixon responded emptily, though it wasn't without some trace of endearment in the lines of his mouth that he regained possession of his hand. Though the feeling of creeping pressure returned in a steady trickle as he felt Kyle's eyes on him, and it was only at the sight of those wiggling eyebrows that he was able to grasp the meaning why, "...Okay, I guess I can waste _one_ afternoon goofing off with you, see if we can't actually get anything productive done for our efforts."  
  
"You're the best, Dixie-stick," Kyle proclaimed, and Dixon fought the urge to groan as he conceded this nickname as being well apart from the worst ones he'd been given. It was then that the two initiated their customary terms of departure with the secret handshake they had developed, and had stuck with them since their middle-school days. Backhand, forehand, grip, elbow touch, bump, explosion, rock-em' hand bump... As you do.  
  
It was while following Kyle's progression to the table Kelly had picked out for them that the realization hit Dixon like a truck; he had wasted this entire time talking with his friends instead of taking into account the other customers. He had become the very thing that he denounced; a work-shirker. Et tu, Docks? This brief crisis of identity was swiftly abated by the sobering realization that there was nobody else lined up to take their order. In fact, the only other person in the restaurant apart from the Island of Misfit Toys was perhaps the single most overbearingly colorful person Dixon had ever seen; the only thing he had time to note about her was her head of untidy blue hair before he forced his attention away from her. He didn't have time to ponder the fashion sense of some outlandish stranger when he had to make up for all the work he had wasted enough time putting off.  
  
But, as he reattached himself dutifully to the daily grind, several suspicious feelings overcame him all at once; one of which was the more conspicuous feeling of emptiness that had existed deep within the pit of his subconscious, but that he simply hadn't noticed until that moment. He might have been happy that Kyle was getting on his way to finally discovering a direction in life, because of course he was happy for his best friend, but that still didn't mean he couldn't still be uneasy about it. Kyle had been a consistent and dependable luxury in his life, a source of comfort and unconditional loyalty, and the idea of eventually being put into a position of not having him around was a difficult one to swallow... Another such feeling, and the feeling that he chose to disregard the instant it came up... he felt as though the blue-haired girl was staring at him.  
  
He knew what college was like, how it had a tendency, more often than not, to change a person... and not always for the better - was that a tacky little heart tattoo he saw on her cheek? - the question was, would Kyle wind up the same? - did she seriously think she could pull off all of that teal, orange and pink? - was Kyle that easily corruptible? - seriously, who wore fingerless gloves anymore besides metal-heads and biker-gangs? - would Dixon even recognize him anymore when he came back? - why did it keep feeling like every time he looked away, her gaze intensified on his neck? - ... _if_ he came back - it was at this point that his anxieties began reaching a tipping point and he dropped the pan he was holding into the wash basin with a monumental _clang,_ attracting the judgmental stares and concerned glances of his friends at the far-table. It was then that, for the first time, the blue-haired girl wasn't staring at him, but had instead occupied her gaze with the view through the opposite window. Then, with the conspicuous sense that something had caught her attention, she rose from the booth she was sitting in and rushed out the door without another word.  
  
She was gone. Good, one less burden to trouble his addled mind. After waving to the others that he was alright, Dixon rubbed his hands down his face and checked the clock on the registry; 6:57pm. He must have been so caught up thinking about... that he had completely lost track of the time. After conceding that his coworkers had most likely ventured home in a moment of inebriated confusion, he walked to the counter and leaned into the microphone.  
  
_"Attention customers, it is 6:57pm, Gimme Burger is now closed,"_ His voice boomed over the loudspeakers, with a hint of extra feedback smothering his words. This was in regards to the shoddy condition of the second-rate sound equipment. He had suggested for ages that Gimme Burger should go digital, but since when did his manager give anything he said any notice? _"You can loiter anywhere, but you can't stay here - yadda-yadda yadda-yadda..."  
  
_ On that cue, all three of his remaining customers got to their feet, two of them leaving with respective goodbyes to Kyle as he, predictably, lingered behind to catch Dixon at the door. It was seeing the eager expression and beckoning smile on his face that prompted Dixon into a decision; even if he and Kyle only had so many months left together, he was going to do whatever it took to make sure Kyle had a place to leave to after it was all said and done, because that was what friends did for each other. His own stubborn pride be damned.  
  
After washing up and retreating to the backroom to change into his more comfortable dark-gray long-shirt and a pair of jeans, Dixon closed everything down and hopped the counter to follow Kyle out the door. As Kyle walked, with Dixon pushing his bike beside him, the two talked. Simply talked. One of those dumb, inconsequential conversations between friends that don't really mean anything, but are the type you look back on years from the fact, and Dixon made sure to savor every word, hold onto every bout of laughter, because he knew that this would be the first conversation of the last conversations he and Kyle would have for awhile. He had to keep that in his mind, _awhile_ , if just for his own sanity. They even wound up so engrossed in their conversation that it was a solid minute before they realized they had passed the library, and they turned around and talked some more until Dixon parked his bike and the two headed inside.  
  
The lingering smell of old paper and printing toner assaulted their senses as they walked past the bar-code detectors and were greeted at the front desk by Lacey Lincoln, a bubbly young woman with waves of magenta hair always covering one of her deep, oceanic eyes, and the disposition of looking perpetually sleepy and/or relaxed. Her extensive experiences with people, as well as her love of literature, (a quality she shared with her grandmother, who happened to own the library in which she worked), made her the undisputed center of wisdom whenever it came to their group of friends. She would have been an Adonis at her job, if not for the fact that the quiet dullness of the library made her chronically drowsy. In fact, judging by how her reading glasses were presently drooping past her button nose, she had likely just gotten up from her latest nap at her desk.  
  
"Lacey, our town darling, how has work been treating you?" Kyle asked conversationally, portraying his usual high-octane energy in sharp contrast to his sluggish friend, who yawned and blinked drowsily at him before greeting him with a lopsided smile.  
  
"Can't complain," She answered in a slow, mellow voice, making a point to glance over her shoulder as she added, "We finally got a new set of _Leslie Griffin_ books after our last collection got ralphed on," She then refitted her gaze on Kyle and fixed him with a pronounced grin and a cocked brow, "Grandma still isn't happy with you about that, bee-tee-dubs," Those electric blues then clung to the two like they were imbued with static, as Lacey looked between them and scanned their features, "I wouldn't let her catch you here if I were you, my guy."  
  
"Oh yeah, sorry about that - bluefin tuna has never agreed with me and it never will," Kyle elaborated as he walked past the desk and into the further library. Dixon followed after him and shook his head incredulously as Kyle turned back around to look back at Lacey and held both arms aloft in an unbothered shrug as he continued to stroll backwards, "Teaches me for trying new things, I suppose," He then added, sticking her up with a round of double finger-pistols, "But thank you for the heads up - you're the best of all of us, gorgeous."

"No problem-o, dudekins, college brochures are in the back," Lacey laughed, waving the two off as they progressed away from her, not necessitating the need of verbally wishing them luck when it came just as easily translated through her eyes.  
  
"I'd marry you if I wasn't so dreadfully homosexual," Kyle added in a dramatic tone of faux despair as he and Dixon disappeared around the nearest bookshelf, prompting yet another hearty laugh out of Lacey, who couldn't help but sympathize.  
  
For a brief instant, it arrived in Dixon's mind the realization that Kyle had obviously told Lacey about his plans before he told him. But, just as quickly, he pushed it from his mind with the myriad of explanations for why that was; of course he had told Lacey first, Lacey was unarguably the emotional center of the group, she hung around with Kyle more often than Dixon had in a long time, plus there was Dixon's reaction whenever he had first heard the news... really, he was being insensitive, Kyle hadn't... he would never... _Dixon_ was there for _Kyle,_ so he should have been acting like it instead of even bothering with these pesky thoughts.  
  
Dixon considered himself lucky whenever the first brochure he picked up from the disorganized pile left on the table was for a school he didn't even recognize... which made it all that much more of a shock whenever the second brochure he picked up was for _the_ _University_ _of Smidgens._ Instantaneously, as though through some primal knee-jerk reaction, he tossed the brochure over his shoulder... only to find another one underneath, which he tossed away, too. He was then left to hang his head in bitter shame as he watched Kyle pick up the brochures under the watchful, piercing gaze of Mrs. Lincoln, Lacey's strict, grammar obsessed grandmother (who _hadn't_ , in fact, forgiven Kyle for accidentally defacing her precious books). After this incident, Kyle decided to settle on the first choice he liked, _(_ _Mondo Lake_ _University)_ , and ventured with Dixon to find some books related to what subjects he found the most intriguing. After returning to the front of the library with their respective book hauls, the two settled down at a nearby table and set to work reading.  
  
They poured through the books for nearly a solid hour, keeping up a consistent flow of suggestions between one another, with a couple of whispered, respectful debates to break up the monotony, with a brief intermission where Dixon realized that he had accidentally picked up a book on Economics and went to return it, stone-faced, to its shelf. About 10 minutes before closing time, Dixon began to get that horrible creeping feeling again, as though he were being watched by a pair of wide, dark eyes. He was just about to concede how creepingly familiar this feeling was to him whenever he looked up and received a monumental shock; it was the blue-haired girl again, and, though she was currently caught in animated conversation with Lacey at the front desk, Dixon just knew that she'd been looking directly at him less than a second ago. It made him wildly uncomfortable, not to mention fearful as he watched this cotton-candy cavalcade of conversation occur between the two women... was this girl following him? Would she keep following him? Would she follow him home? Panic began to steadily climb up his ribcage, higher and higher, until...  
  
" _I_ wouldn't wear that much orange with magenta and teal, but she somehow makes that coat work," Kyle remarked over Dixon's shoulder, and so abruptly that it nearly gave him a heart attack. He, too, was looking at the girl with blue hair, so at the very least Dixon knew he wasn't just imagining her. What was her deal? Was the circus in town? Was there an upcoming music festival and Brad just neglected to tell him? (That wouldn't be outside his wheelhouse.) Lacey and Kelly might have dyed their hair, but they definitely had some kind of fashion sense. That was another thing Dixon couldn't help but note; her hair was almost _unnaturally_ blue, definitely unlike any hair-dye he'd ever seen on a person. Could that really be her natural hair color or..?  
  
"It's nearing closing time, my dudes. You can feel free to leave the books out, I'll put them away for you," Lacey offered generously, and Dixon nodded absently, not even comprehending a word of that, because, for the first time, he and the blue-haired girl were making direct eye contact. Those bright black eyes met his dull gray ones, and they held contact for what felt like an eternity before, in only but an instant, the blue-haired girl tore her eyes away, waved Lacey goodbye, and left the same way she had come in.  
  
If Dixon was paranoid before, then he was dead sure now that something was completely fucked about this entire situation, he just couldn't exactly figure out what...  
  
"I'm gonna catch you later, River S-dix, you can stay here and proceed staring after manic pixie dream girls," Kyle's voice reached out like static in Dixon's ears, and he couldn't even bring himself to be emotionally there for their customary goodbye handshake, merely setting his hand upon Kyle's shoulder, shaking it feebly in farewell, and allowing it to deftly slide off back to his side as his best friend disappeared from his peripheral. He was so jarred by this strange occurrence that he didn't even comprehend getting up and leaving out the door, not even hearing what Lacey had to say to him as he walked past her. Then, he simply hopped onto his bike and peddled as hard as he could down the sunset lit street.  
  
It was only when passing the Gimme Burger and reaching the downhill turn toward home that Dixon allowed himself time to calm down and think straight. He was just being overly paranoid, that had to be the answer. He had no idea who that girl was, and she had no idea who _he_ was, everything was as it was supposed to be... but then, why was there such intent in her gaze whenever she looked at him? No, he wasn't going to give this anymore thought. Instead, he was going to think about something more important - like how much he was going to miss Kyle when he left for Mondo Lake University! - Kyle, what a guy, his best friend in the entire world, boy, was it going to suck not having him around anymore - this wasn't working - who would he hang out and talk dumb shit with when he was gone? Brad and Kelly? - why wasn't this working? - and Kyle couldn't take him with him, he had tried college and it didn't work out too well! - he couldn't get her out of his head, he was seeing her everywhere he looked - Kyle was just going to leave him high and dry - wide, staring eyes everywhere, glaring at him, piercing him... getting ready to strike - Kyle was going to leave him just like..! - Dixon was in the midst of another panic attack, he was sure of it, and he was sure he was going to spin out of control on his bike... until...  
  
_"GET DOWN!"_ A feminine voice rang out, and suddenly Dixon felt his legs bend forcefully and painfully through the bars of his bicycle as a firm hand nailed him in the side of the head and pushed him onto the dirty, sun-baked gravel below. The first thing he could perceive after his initial daze was the familiar cheek tattoo of the mysterious blue-haired girl. Though whenever he looked up, the second thing he saw definitely wasn't familiar... not by a long shot.  
  
When he peered skyward, he found himself looking directly into the large, dripping maw of a giant bug.  
  
\------------------------------------------------------------  
**BRIEF INTERMISSION:  
** • If you've read this far, then thank you so very much for taking the time to continue! <3  
• I know it's pretty big for a first chapter, but I have so many things I wish to share with you to help fill out this world as much as possible!  
• So thank you again for bearing with me! ^^  
• The next part is an action sequence, so if you've been craving something more high-octane, then I'm happy to present to you the ending of our first chapter!  
• Feel free to read it at the pace that suits you best, now here we go!  
**END OF INTERMISSION.**  
\------------------------------------------------------------  
  
_"Jesus Fucking Christ!"_ Though Dixon's yelled obscenities were unlikely to be heard through the monumental cacophony of buzzing that proceeded, as hundreds of large, teal shapes shot by overheard, and whenever Dixon was given the next opportunity to look up he would see a swarm of hideous, teal-colored bugs, each the size of a small horse, hovering above and screeching down at them. _'This had to be a fucking nightmare',_ was the only thing that came to Dixon's mind in retort to the clicking sounds of the bugs' snapping jaws.  
  
"Get away and find cover, quickly!" The mystery girl urged, and Dixon was in no position to argue with her at this point; literally, because she had pushed him a few feet away with strength disproportionate to somebody of such petite stature.  
  
But despite all misgivings, he heeded her advice, if only because of the slim chance that this wasn't, in fact, a dream and he currently ran the risk of willfully disposing himself into the line of fire. In that case, it would be a very stupid way to die. So he wheeled around and slid across the hood of the nearest parked car... only to instantly affront every action hero in the history of movies as he tumbled off the hood and hit the back of his head on solid asphalt. His vision was blurry from the blunt-force trauma he had sustained, but he was still alive enough to peer out from his hiding spot and witness as the blue-haired girl did possibly the dumbest thing she could have done in that situation; rather than reach into her bag for something to defend herself with, she took off one of her fingerless gloves.  
  
_"Are you insane, you'll --"_ But before he could finish that thought, a few of the bugs detached themselves from the swarm and dove down to strike at her with their pointy noses.  
  
Looking back at this moment years from now, Dixon would feel thankful for not shutting his eyes tightly closed and running off to save his own hide while, for all he would have known, he let an innocent somebody get viciously devoured by giant bugs, because what he wound up witnessing next was a truly glorious spectacle, as the mysterious girl swung her fists at her rapidly approaching foes and not only made direct contact on their chitinous hides with her bare knuckles, but the power of her punches were so mighty that the sheer force of her swings caused the bugs to explode into a shower of viscous teal slime, while she herself escaped the brush completely unscathed and brandishing her lethal weapons in invitation for the next round of bugs to have their go at her.  
  
"Holy shit..." Was all Dixon could manage to say before cringing and covering his ears as the remaining bugs filled the skies with angry, wailing shrieks in the wake of the demise of their kin.  
  
This next time, a half-portion of the swarm instead detached themselves from their brethren and compressed their spindly limbs around their fat bodies so that they could rain down on their target like a hail of large, apoplectic darts. But the blue-haired girl wasn't shaken, as she instantly darted between the line of parked cars encompassing the street with keen reflexes and evaded the screeching teal missiles. At this moment, it became clear to Dixon that she had done this type of thing before, but this didn't make him anymore humble to his chances of surviving this endeavor. As half of the bugs were splattered against windshields, the other half doubled back and hovered above the street, searching for their hidden target like teal drones while snapping their jaws hungrily. Dixon, who was eyeing the approach of these sentries cautiously, almost didn't hear the creaking of the bumper to the car he was hiding behind, and whenever he looked over he saw the mysterious girl bent down beside him and watched in simultaneous awe and horror as she lifted the car like it was nothing, heaved a monumental grunt, and flattened what remained of the swarm's second wave underneath it.  
  
"Uhh..." Dixon uttered stupidly as he slowly looked over to see the blue-haired girl heaving and clapping the rust off of her hands. She then shocked him further by looking back at him and grinning broadly, as though she had just made s'mores with Cadillac graham crackers and jelly-bug marshmallows.  
  
"That car was pretty banged up, huh? Very rusty..." Her tone was conversational, at which Dixon could do nothing more for it but nod his head in his feelings of fear and shock.  
  
But the both of them would again be alerted to the wrath of the swarm, as another guttural shriek, this one differing slightly from the last one, telegraphed to the pair the moment of their incoming assault. It was in that moment that Dixon absorbed the fact that the mystery girl had just destroyed his cover, so, without her needing to tell him as much, he quickly scrambled to ascertain another hiding place. Though whenever he slid underneath the next parked car, he failed to notice the fact that all of the remaining bugs were converging and glomming onto each other, forming themselves into a shapeless mass of teal slime before shaping themselves and gaining definition in the form of a massive mother bug, nearly as wide as the street it was fluttering above on its massive wings. But Dixon sure felt the gigantic creature as it dropped its entire weight onto the street with an enormous crash that caused the ground itself to tremble underneath its weight. It made him terrified at the foreboding prospect of stealing a look, and the mother bug appeared to agree with him as it expelled a shrill, churning screech that instantly dissuaded him from even remaining near the thing. In the end, though, the curious absence of noise that followed beckoned Dixon's attention and brought worry to the forefront of his mind over the fate of the blue-haired stranger. Slowly, with the utmost consciousness in regards to just what he was getting himself into, he arose on shaking knees and glanced through the shattered windows of the parked car to find what was no doubt the direct cause of the uproar. He figured the force of its landing must have shattered all of these windows... but all of the fear he retained was wiped away and replaced with a thrill of comprehension as he noticed what appeared to be the handlebars of his bike pinned underneath one side of the bug's translucent, gelatinous underbelly.  
  
The ole' abacus began going into a frenzy in his head; that was one of the only things he owned, and on a cashier's salary he was unlikely to get another one for possible weeks. That would mean he'd have to walk to work everyday... he'd definitely be late... he'd definitely be _fired._ With nothing else to lose, Dixon jumped up onto the hood of the parked car and leapt into action as speedily as possible, so to avoid attracting the attention of the mother bug on the spot. However, it didn't appear to notice him, but he wasn't going to stop to ponder why; once reaching his bike, he stooped down and hooked both hands underneath the handlebars. He then attempted with all of his might to wedge the bike out from beneath the corpulent insectoid, but it might have been simpler to negotiate a leaf out from underneath a steamroller with a pair of nail-clippers. It wasn't budging, and the mother bug was growing restless with the constant jabbing of the bicycle seat into its stomach. Dixon would have to leave it and salvage his own life while he still could. He couldn't save the mysterious heroine, but, then again... it was never his job to.  
  
But, just as he was about to seize the opportunity to run away, something stopped him from turning away: the sound of a struggle, and when he turned the other way he discovered exactly where the grunts and groans were coming from; the blue-haired girl was still alive, but only just as she was up to her midriff in bug slime. The creature was slowly absorbing her into its mass, and as she sunk deeper into its jelly-like innards she shifted the weight of her bag on her free arm - from shoulder, to elbow, and then to wrist. Dixon then felt a pang of immense guilt once she caught sight of him, and the feeling only deepened when the first thing she did was smile at him.  
  
"You're alive! That's super, just --" She interrupted herself with a groan of effort as she attempted to keep the bug from swallowing up to her ribs, "Just super! Hahaha... don't worry, I'll be out in a jiffy! Well..." Her expression fell slightly as she mentally deliberated the pro's and con's of her current situation, "A couple of jiffies..."  
  
"I'm... I'm sorry," Dixon mumbled, as that was all he could think to say in these distressing circumstances. But what else could he possibly do? For whatever reason, he felt like he was somehow at fault for getting her into this situation, despite the fact that _she_ was the one who had gotten _him_ wrapped up in all of this in the first place. Maybe if she hadn't have been distracted trying to look out for him... maybe if he had just stayed out of the way... maybe she would still have a chance.  
  
"No no... _I'm_ the one who should be sorry," The blue-haired girl replied, and somehow Dixon knew she truly meant it. Her dark, expressive eyes weren't filled with tears, but they were sparkling like they were on the way. She seemed about to say something more, but was interrupted once again, this time by another elephantine screech, which couldn't have been anything other than a death toll. For whatever reason, this made things more crucial for the both of them, their desperation mirrored in each other's expression, "H... Here's an idea," She stammered, her teeth bared in a strained grin as she shook the bag clutched in the vice-grip of her free hand, "Why don't you reach into my bag, pull out my _Stardust Sword,_ and see if that does anything to get us out of this, huh?"  
  
"...If you don't even know whether it'll work, then I think I'm the last person to entrust saving your life to," Dixon confided honestly, setting his hand against the sturdy carapace of the massive creature as he stared inward at his warped reflection imprinted on its glossy surface, "This isn't even my responsibility..."  
  
"Ah, well... that's understandable," The blue-haired girl admitted honestly before she was sucked in further with another monumental churning noise. This spurred Dixon into doing the first thing that popped into his mind, and that was lunging forward to grab her arm and stop her from disappearing. As the action caused her bag to fall and clatter against the ground, this mysterious stranger gave him a sad smile and stammered, "I'm Audrey, by the way... just Audrey."  
  
" _Nngh..._ Dixon - _mmf_ \- D...Dixon Docks," Dixon responded. He didn't know why his immediate instinct was to tell Audrey his name when she was about to die. Perhaps it was his final and only gift to her, in some grim sense, something to take with her in her inevitable finality.  
  
"Nice to meet you, Dixon Docks... I'm so sorry for your --" She wasn't allowed to finish before the colossal bug absorbed her head into its selfish gelatinous husk of a body, muffling anymore sound from reaching her lips.  
  
_"No-no-no!"_ Dixon shouted in panic as he desperately tried yanking her back out by her elbow, only to be knocked backward whenever Audrey was slurped up to her forearm. He fell hard on the ground, white-hot pain jabbing at him like a hot poker and spreading like wildfire through from where he landed on his backside. But he was ignorant to the pain, because he knew anything that he was going through couldn't possibly be as horrible as the fate that awaited Audrey. He had to do something... but what could somebody like him do to help?  
  
Dixon then looked to his left and discovered Audrey's bag lying on its side beside his head, and, for once, hope blossomed forth from deep within him; there was still a chance he could fix this. He jumped onto his knees and pulled the bag toward himself, hurriedly unzipping it and shoving his arm inside. He didn't even notice that the bag was much deeper than it looked as he rooted around through its contents. Audrey said something about a sword... a handle... all he had to do was find a handle and she would be saved... please, god, let him grab a handle, grab something, anything...  
  
"Ah!" He exclaimed as his fingers grazed what felt like a pommel, reaching so far inward that the zipper was up to his shoulder before he finally grabbed ahold of the handle and withdrew the weapon from inside the bag; ribbons of dazzling magenta flame flowed from within the bag as Dixon pulled out and glanced upon the majesty of the powerful _Stardust Sword._ It had to be the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life... but there would be time to behold it later, he had to use it to end this. Dixon held the sword aloft and ran forward, and he didn't even need to think about it as he held the sword above his head and jabbed it into belly of the yowling beast. The hard outer shell took it like a hot knife through butter. Dixon then felt the handle twist against the weight of his grip, and instantly the _Stardust Sword_ ignited, a bubble of unrestrained heat rising underneath the creature's skin and causing it to wail in agony. Then, that portion of its underbelly exploded in a splash of teal slime and the upper half of Audrey's body was freed as a result, the blue-haired girl drawing in a hefty gasp of air as her slime-drenched hair fell back over her forehead.  
  
"I knew you could do it!" Was the first thing she said once she caught her breath, and the smile she gave toward Dixon was brighter than ever. But the two of them still had a job to finish.  
  
As the mother bug turned its head and screeched angrily at them, Audrey and Dixon only needed one glance toward each other to get the message; brandishing the blazing weapon in his hands, Dixon lunged forward and buried the blade deep within the heart of the beast, stunning it for just enough time that Audrey could rip off her other glove with the use of her teeth, pull her fist back, and deliver the finishing blow to vanquish the creature.  
  
The explosion that proceeded was massive and messy, and the devastated street around them became additionally paved by a thick coating of freshly-juiced bug guts. The next thing Dixon knew, he was lying on his back with his entire front coated in foul-smelling slime, and he allowed himself the luxury of lying there for a few long, introspective moments before he wiped the gunk out of his eyes and stumbled unceremoniously to his feet. It was a splash zone of epic proportions, the buildings around them splattered with a gaudy teal paint-job while flecks and pieces of decimated bug guts rained from the sky and made the monumental mess, if anything, even messier. Dixon didn't even notice his left eye was twitching until he reeled back and unleashed a strained, deep-gut holler. He then proceeded to absolutely lose his shit as he paced back and forth, shouting himself raw with a string of curses and obscenities, the adrenaline pumping through his body prompting his mind into a tizzy of cluttered emotions. Even more, it began to fully settle in what he had just been a part of, what he had just witnessed, what he had just _done,_ and his poor, fragile psyche just couldn't handle all of this relief - all of this anxiety - all of this irrational _anger.  
  
_An upside, he soon discovered, was that Audrey was alive and well. He was glad... because he couldn't wait to wring her neck and shake the answers out of her. What answers? Answers to what the fuck just happened, that's what answers! And while Audrey was laughing and whooping in elation at their victory, Dixon walked up behind her, reach both hands out, but decided against even touching her, he was so furious... all he wanted to do was scream!  
  
"Would you like to tall me what the _fuck just happened here?!?!"_ Dixon roared, though rather than interrogate the answers he wanted out of her, he only seemed to bring Audrey further amusement as she snorted at the sight of him, "You're laughing... why the fuck are you laughing? What's funny about this?"  
  
"You're - _haha -_ you're absolutely _covered_ in - in _biobug_ goo," Audrey sputtered, holding her sides and shaking her head back and forth as she witnessed Dixon brandishing his trembling hands at her, "I'm sorry - _I'm sorry -_ okay? Haha... really sorry, I mean it."  
  
"Biobug? That's what you call them?" Dixon questioned lividly, to which Audrey had to repress another bout of laughter as she nodded her head in affirmation, "Yeah? That's what they're called? Well, guess what - guess what," He approached Audrey and, rather than shake the giggles out of her like he _really_ wanted to, he placed his hands on her slime-covered shoulders and wiped his hands off on them, "You're - covered - in it - _too, brainiac!"_ Between every other word, he wiped down her arms, afterward jerking his hands away and shaking the leftover slime out from between his fingers. Dixon then caught sight of something that made him divulge another wail of misery, though this one was more repressed as he trudged through the muck and moved his foot forward to nudge at the twisted, slime-covered remains of his beloved bike. The sole fact that he didn't even salvage _that_ from the situation made him dislike being around Audrey even more - he still didn't regret saving her when he did, but he was still more than eager for her to see the back of him. His back, caked in moist slime that smelled strongly of undiluted iodine...  
  
"Then we should probably get cleaned up, because this stuff chafes when you let it crust over - believe me," Audrey affirmed, and the mere fact that she framed this like it was some elaborate joke with no pay-off in sight was the final nail in the coffin where Dixon was concerned. With nothing else going for him, and no reason to stay, he started the long, uncomfortable trek home. Audrey, who was watching the steady flow of apprehensive people exiting their homes to check on the bug situation, eventually noticed and called out to him, "Hey, where are you going??"  
  
"Home..." Dixon grunted simply, his heart sinking down into his stomach as he heard the foreboding sounds of footfalls, which meant that she was probably following after him, _"Alone,"_ He added before she could get too close.  
  
"Can I come?" Audrey asked, not quite grasping the implied meaning Dixon injected behind the word "alone" as she scurried forward to close the growing gap between them. She wasn't going to wait for an answer, it seemed, as she was already walking beside Dixon whenever he looked over his shoulder to snap back at her, only to realize too late that she was already there, much to his tremendous annoyance.  
  
"No," He said flatly, even as she actively defied his words by forging ahead of him and walking backwards in a way that reminded him painfully of Kyle, which was the last thing he needed right at that moment. What really gave him a migraine was whenever she started pestering him with the same phrase over and over again.  
  
"Please please please?" She pleaded constantly, and he kept denying her the pleasure of breaking him down with a prompt...  
  
"No no no," He concentrated every fiber of his being to ignore her voice, ignore the very sight of her, but she made it progressively more difficult with the way she circled around him like a hungry shark, attempting to attract his gaze with a series of feeble attempts, one of which consisted of her walking with her back arched and her head lolled back so she could look at him upside-down for awhile.  
  
_"Pleeeeeaaase?"_ She enunciated when they had reached Chelsea's house and she watched Dixon speed-walk up the pathway and step up onto the porch to get well away from her. As he fished through his pocket for his pesky keys, the continued wailing of that "e" began to get on his last nerve, to the point where he shoved the key into the lock and turned around to glare deadened knives into Audrey's throat.  
  
"Give me _one_ good reason to let you stay here," He snarled, watching Audrey gape for a few seconds before poising herself into a thoughtful pose. He didn't offer her the chance to think about it before he showed her the palm of his hand, "I can give you _five_ reasons to the contrary right now," And he began to count on his fingers, "You loitered in my restaurant without buying anything - you stalked me all evening - you put me in danger - you got me slimed - and, let's see here... oh yeah - _you destroyed my bike!"  
  
_ "I saved your life?" Audrey questioned with a loose shrug of her shoulders, though the shakiness of her grin suggested that not even she staked much confidence in this suggestion. Dixon surely wasn't moved.  
  
"Yeah, then I saved yours, so I owe you nothing," He insisted, unlocking the door and stepping onto the threshold, "But nice try," He said bitterly before going to close the door, but before he could shut it, he heard Audrey utter a strange noise in her desperation while raising a finger at him, as though this would help her stop him from leaving her.  
  
"What - what about the power of human kindness?" Audrey suggested in a last-ditch effort to appeal to Dixon's emotional center.  
  
"Don't have any," He stated outright before slamming the door right in her face.  
  
Once delivered into the sanctity of his own home, Dixon grabbed two fistfuls of his goop-drenched hair and seethed in both parts exhaustion and frustration. He still couldn't quite get around what had just happened, and he didn't think he wanted to become an expert on it anytime soon. The best he could hope for was that that horrible bug creature didn't show up in his nightmares, if he could even manage to get to sleep that night. With one final kick to his side of the door in response to Audrey's whimpering on her side, Dixon marched over to the couch and picked up a towel so he could wipe his face off. As he was taken by the blanketed security of the silk-laden cloth, he began to think more clearly. Think about Kyle, think about how he would never know, _could_ never know about what he had just been through, because that would only make him feel obligated to stay in Arbor Springs to watch after him, and he'd rather not have "being a burden" weighing down on his conscience. Though, for that matter, would Kyle even mind it much, especially when leaving Dixon seemed so super easy?  
  
No, that wasn't being fair to him. Clearly Kyle was having a difficult time choosing his future over his loved ones, and he didn't need his best friend in the whole world making him feel more guilty about it by resenting him for it. But what was Dixon going to do, where was he going to go whenever all of this craziness happening so recently in his life started getting to be too much? He'd be alone, without anybody there to offer him the mercy of their company or help... just like, he supposed, Audrey would be if he didn't swallow his pride and decide to help her out. But did he really want that millstone around his neck, even when said millstone retained the concentrated power of a nuclear missile in her fists?  
  
What the hell. This wasn't the _worst_ exchange rate he had ever seen, and besides... that part about the "kindness of humanity" was going to bother him for the rest of the night, because, believe it or not, that was something his mother used to always capitalize on the importance of in his youth, late at night a long time ago, way before... but why did Audrey say the exact same thing to him? She was nothing like his mom... but then again, he had only known everything about his mom that a 5-year-old would know, so maybe he wasn't so reliable an authority, either. Nonetheless, his decision was made, and he was just about to walk over to allow Audrey inside whenever he was alerted to a crashing sound somewhere behind him. When he looked over his shoulder and down the hall to check, he would be shocked to find that Audrey had already let herself in through his bedroom window.  
  
"...What the fuck are you doing?" Dixon asked before anything else, to which Audrey squealed like a small mouse caught in the act and reposed herself into a casual lying down position, shrugging her shoulders simply, as though she hadn't a clue what he was talking about.  
  
"Nothing," She said smoothly, eyes drifting off to the side and her foot bobbing back and forth in an exaggerated impression of nonchalance, "Just hanging around."  
  
"... Well screw it, you can stay," Dixon forced the words out of his mouth, but the second Audrey jumped up to her feet and looked about to launch into a spiel proclaiming her deepest gratitude, he stopped her before she could let a single word out, " _But..._ I'm going to have to lay down some ground rules. First off, none of..." He twirled his finger in a way of gesturing around to the seeming home invasion she was caught in the midst of, "No more of this shit, okay?"  
  
"Oh yes, of course," Audrey agreed, raising a hand in an expression of her utmost honesty.  
  
"Good. Secondly, you have to keep clean, no messes," Dixon continued with the air that he was lecturing a particularly disruptive child, his eyes following Audrey's progression down the hallway closely as he noted in the corner of his eye the gooey footprints that seeped into the carpets behind her, "Thirdly - _da-ahah!"_ He exclaimed suddenly as she attempted to sit down on the couch and he had to consciously shoo her away from it to drive the point into her head, "Third rule; no making a mess of _other people's property -_ now take this," He handed her off the towel he was using, which she proceeded to unfold and turn over in her hands, as though she had just suddenly forgotten how to use one. Dixon was then about to retreat into the bathroom so he could, perhaps, reconsider whether this was a good idea, but he was forced to stop whenever he comprehended Audrey's notice of his special picture frame and watched as her hand inched toward it, _"Hey!"_ He ended up shouting so loudly that even Audrey's impenetrable composure faltered for a second as she ashamedly pulled her hand away and sunk down between her shoulders as Dixon walked over and snatched the picture frame from beside the door, _"Fourth..._ rule; you don't... you _never_ touch this, alright?" He then experienced a pang of guilt as Audrey looked upon him with large eyes and nodded her head up and down in explicit understanding of this fourth and final rule. Perhaps to make amends for losing his patience with her, he waved her over to the couch, "Here, you can sleep on the couch, _that_ you can get dirty - at least while you wait for your turn in the bathroom. I'll just..." He cut a schism in this thought with a heavy, exhausted sigh as he turned his back and walked toward the bathroom, "I'll vacuum it tomorrow afternoon."  
  
"Thank you, Dixon," Audrey called after him, and the genuine appreciation inflected in her voice was enough to make him feel even more shitty for deliberately being an asshole.  
  
"Yeah..." He trailed away simply, walking into the bathroom and locking away the outside.  
  
Once he relinquished himself into the quiet sanctity of the porcelain-tiled walls, Dixon just then realized that he was still holding the _Stardust Sword_ tightly in his dominant hand, but his attention was less reserved for this and more partial to the picture frame clutched in other hand, most importantly so, the picture inside. This was the first photo he had taken with his parents, and one that he didn't remember because, at the time, he was just a small baby. But he was old enough now to appreciate the looks of youthful exuberance present in the faces of his young-adult parents, the happiness they probably felt getting to hold their baby for the first time, knowing that their family was finally complete. He couldn't help but think about it constantly, think about whether they would be proud to see the person that their son had become, or whether they would be ashamed. But even on his brightest days Dixon knew that they weren't alive enough to feel anything anymore, because they were dead and their dear son was left mercilessly orphaned and profoundly miserable at the young age of 5.  
  
Even still, perhaps there was a God, and if there was then Dixon knew for a fact that, if they would accept anybody into paradise, it would be his parents, and they would probably be looking down at him now, breathing a sigh of relief that their son was finally making something of himself by opening his home to somebody who needed it. Maybe they'd be so relieved they'd even entirely disregard the fact that it wasn't even his house. That was a pleasant thought, and it was a thought that Dixon carried like a talisman in his heart as he finally took the time to take care of the body that his mother and father worked so hard to nurture while they still had the time to. He even remembered to brush his teeth like his mother taught him, and trimmed his facial hair like his father might have shown him how. Everything was at peace, the universe was realigned as it was supposed to be.  
  
This would all be hampered slightly whenever he emerged from the bathroom to find that Audrey had conked out on the couch before taking the liberty to wash herself and - sure enough, as she had promised - he could see her scratching at her chafing skin as she dipped in and out of consciousness. But some part of him expected this, because this was how it always worked; when the workings of the universe were realigned, that meant it was time for the cycle to begin anew. He would awake the next morning as grouchy as ever before, but maybe, with something new to freshen up his morning routine, he would find himself quicker to finding contentment in the thick of it all.  
  
After draping a blanket over Audrey's sleeping form, and placing the picture frame on the coffee table instead of at its usual place by the door, Dixon retired to his bedroom to sleep off what felt like the longest day of his life. As he lied down in bed and began to feel himself fading away to the mercy of slumber, he ran his fingers absently over his mother's star pendant and smiled humorlessly to himself as he entertained one final thought before drifting off into the night; whenever it came to the long-term detrimental effects of climate change, or the imminent heat-death of the universe, which would be the first to save him from the imminently long-term psychological damage of having Audrey as a housemate?  
  
_**The End of Chapter One - The Girl Who Destroyed My Bike...**_


End file.
